


Had you Hesitated

by heavybreathingcat



Category: BioShock Infinite, Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angel (Borderlands) Lives, Body Horror, Child Abuse, Drug Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Multiverse, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Linear Narrative, Rescue Angel AU, This is a borderlands story, You don't need to know the Bioshock plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21624472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavybreathingcat/pseuds/heavybreathingcat
Summary: "Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt". That was the deal.Only one choice changed Timothy Lawrence into Handsome Jack: he hesitated to save the one he loved.Jack opened the Vault and built his empire, Hyperion, and in another world, Timothy Lawrence lost himself to drugs and gambling. When Timothy finally succumbed to his grief he made a terrible deal that saw him part with the only thing he had left. Now he has one last job to settle the remaining debts...On Hiatus until I finish my main epic
Relationships: Angel & Handsome Jack (Borderlands), Angel & Timothy Lawrence, Digi-Jack(s) & Timothy Lawrence, Digi-Jack(s)/Timothy Lawrence, Handsome Jack & Timothy Lawrence, Timothy Lawrence/Nisha
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	1. Constants and Variables

**Author's Note:**

> [Burlesque Articulation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burlesque_articulation/pseuds/burlesque_articulation) is my wonderful Beta reader.

_Our worlds are defined by constants and variables._

_Constant; The Vault of Elips would be opened._

_Variable; would it be a man or a Siren?_

_Some choices are made for us, those are our constants. And some of our choices define a new path; variables. There was only one choice that turned Timothy Lawrence into Handsome Jack._

_The Vault of Elpis_

"Nisha!" Timothy screamed.

She fell to her hands and knees, with her arm tightly coiled over her stomach as blood poured through her grasp.

Timothy scrambled over shrapnel and the dead to reach her, and the effort tore his hands apart. He winced, as his wounds bled and chest ached, but he didn't stop.

The entrance to the Vault stood behind him; its archway cast a shadow so long, that it seemed it would never clear from Timothy's path. It wanted him to turn back, it wanted him to enter, but Timothy did not.

He fled from the Vault and all its treasures and not once did he look back.

_You didn’t hesitate to save her._

Bullets tore under Timothy's arm, tearing his jacket apart, but he did not stop. No matter how many other Vault hunters he fought through, or Eridian guardians he gunned down, he could not reach her.

"Goddammit!"

Every step was a struggle, as though he were fighting against an unseen force. Timothy cursed, and pushed onwards, but he knew now, that the Vault was refusing to let him flee. 

It wanted him, it called to him, but he didn't care. He didn't want a world without _her_ in it and if that meant giving up the fight for the Vault, so be it. But Timothy's enemies — the Firehawks team of Vault Hunters — still engaged, throwing everything they had at him.

"Move!" Timothy yelled and pushed past one of the Firehawks men, leaving them bewildered as to why he didn't gun them down.

A ring of fire opened in thin air, right besides Nisha, and the Firehawk herself emerged. 

"Get away from her!" Timothy emptied his clip towards Lilith, forcing the Siren back into cover. 

The Firehawk had managed to keep the upper hand by teleporting throughout the cavern and gunning down his team. But Timothy would not give her the chance to harm Nisha again.

He fought through Roland's defences, just as Nisha used the last of her bullets to keep Lilth's lackeys away. Yet, not even Nisha's determination could survive a shot to the gut. She dropped her gun, and her head swayed, eyes growing glassy. 

Timothy barely registered the chaos around him; he only had eyes on her. Lilith's team of Vault hunters fought Eridian guardians, as did his team. The victor would have the Vault for themselves, but none of it mattered. The Vault didn't matter until she was safe.

Nisha began to shake, and a moment later, her body gave out, and she collapsed on her side. 

Timothy's anguished scream became lost behind an explosion. The heat and flames roared all around him. Wilhelm called to him, but he did not stop, he fought against the will of the Vault until he was by her side.

Timothy dropped to his knees, landing in a pool of Nisha's blood.

"Nisha?!"

Her eyes struggled to stay open, and her hand no longer held onto the wound. Timothy pushed a hand under her back and pulled her close. 

"I've got you," he whispered, just as another explosion roared behind them. 

The blood poured freely, soaking Timothy's shirt. He wanted to sob, but all he managed to do was make a hoarse sound.

"The Vault dammit..." Nisha coughed, and blood painted her purple lips red. She tried and failed to push him away. "Go… for the Vault."

"Don't be an idiot! I'm not leaving you."

"We came all this way," she whispered. "Don't you dare —"

"Shut it, dammit."

The bullet had gone clean through, and with every laboured breath, Nisha pushed out another wave of blood. He bandaged her as best as he could, and she didn't protest. Her stomach ran hot with crimson, while the rest of her body grew cold and still.

"Nisha?"

Her head rolled back, and more blood poured from her open mouth.

"No, no, no, no," he scrambled for his gear-chip, hoping to find a health-kit, but his soaked hands slipped on the device. 

"Fuck! Nisha, hold on, please hold on."

He digitised his last Anshin and administered it directly at the side of the wound, but she did not wake. Her breaths grew shallow, and her skin paled.

Timothy buried his face into her hair and held her against him. 

He told himself they were allies and nothing more, but that did not stop him from crying out as her body went still. He was drowning with regrets and unspoken truths. Timothy's knuckles turned white as he gripped the leather of her jacket and never let her go. 

The gunfire and explosions were a distant battle. He did not notice as his team failed and the Firehawk won and entered the Vault.

"Please, Nisha, please hold on."

His aching body rose with her, and he carried her out of that place. He didn't spare a moment to look back at the Vault.

_You chose to save her. But you didn’t always make that choice ._

"Lawrence!"

Nisha called, just as the Firehawk teleported away. Blood bloomed across Nisha’s shirt, and for the first time, there was fear upon her face. Her hands trembled as she held them to her abdomen, she tried to reach him, but her knees gave out, and she fell to the ground.

"Nisha!"

But he did not run to her side. Lilith's team was winning, and it wouldn't be long until they secured the Vault for themselves.

_Your hesitation cost her life._

The Firehawk re-emerged from a fiery portal and shoved a gun to the back of Nisha's head.

Nisha's golden eyes drew wide, and her mouth opened. But she never did call out.

Lilith looked him in the eye when she executed her. Blood and gore exploded where Nisha's face once was, and her body fell to the side. 

"NO!" Timothy's enraged cry drew the attention of Lilith's men.

They fired upon him, and he may have taken a hit, but his grief smothered the pain. He stumbled forward, hand outreached where her body lay. Lilith teleported away, leaving nothing but a red glow and the fading light shaped Nisha's blood-stained body into the ashes of a fire.

Timothy was locked in place. He didn't make a sound as he watched the light fade, and Nisha's remains fall into shadows. 

He would show them no mercy.

His hands curled into fists, but he did not cry. Just as Lilith put down his companion like a dog, he would give them the same courtesy.

Mordecai was the first to die.

Timothy clipped a grenade to the sniper's belt and dove for cover. All that remained was a dark red stain and a hole in the side of the cavern. Brick's cry was not too different from his own. Seeing a loved one die made or broke you. It made Timothy stronger, but it destroyed Brick. The broken man dropped to his knees and didn't take notice to the shotgun Timothy shoved into the back of his head. Timothy made sure Lilith saw him when he fired.

Roland's end was just as swift. Timothy's only regret was that he didn't see the man's face when he shot him in the back, but he saw Lilith's. She screamed, and every tattoo on her body sprang to life. 

She teleported to face him, but her grief clouded her mind. She came at him unarmed, and Timothy shot her in the shoulder. Her anguish echoed off the cavern walls even after she opened a portal and fled.

The Vault was his.

Wilhelm was too injured to follow, and Athena had left the battle early on; Timothy would remember her disloyalty. He holstered his weapon and turned towards the arch of the Vault. The violet glow cast a soft hue over the destruction; it was beautiful, despite the many bodies at his feet. 

He'd sacrificed _everything_ for this: he gave up his job, piled up countless debts and years of failure. Worst of all, he just lost the one woman who believed in him.

But Nisha would understand. 

The Vault was his right.

_You didn’t know it yet, but you were already a different man. Timothy became Handsome Jack the moment he hesitated to save the one he loved. You always told yourself the brand changed you, that the Siren was to blame, but you were wrong._

"No…" Timothy growled. "No… that CAN'T be it."

There was no treasure; in fact, there was nothing save for a damn pile of floating rocks. Timothy's legs almost gave out, he stumbled forward, fists curling at his side.

"NO!" 

This was his reward?! After everything, he sacrificed the Eridians gave him nothing?

"The hell is this!?" He yelled, but there was no one to hear.

He willed himself to his full height and strode over to the rock formation. A heavy weight fell upon his shoulders and crawled down his back. There was a force he could not see preventing him from reaching his prize.

Timothy cried out sharply as he struggled against it all, and as he finally closed in, the pebbles shifted. They began to glow and created the shape of the Vault symbol.

"A weapon?" Timothy mumbled. The light drew him in, like a moth to a flame he did not consider the consequences as he reached out and touched the alien artifact.

The ground fell away, the violet glow of the Vault turned dark, and all he could see was the Vault symbol in front of his face.

And her.

He saw a girl with bright golden eyes and short dark hair.

"Nisha?"

Timothy whispered, but he didn't hear his voice. The images came faster, and soon he was suffocating under the weight of it all. The relic poured in everything it had; glued to his eyes with a stream of endless Eridium. 

Timothy saw it all. 

The girl's arm was covered in the markings of a Siren. There was another Vault. A powerful beast. The girl was there too. Helping him conquer the worlds and bring order.

Where did she come from?

Everything was in flames, and he and the girl stood above it all.

Who was she?

The visions flowed through his mind and boiled over. His body shook with a fever. He could not hold on, the more he saw the greater the pain. Blood wept from his nose, and the bitter taste fell into his agape mouth.

He just needed to see more. He had to know who the girl was. Just a little longer –

“This is for Roland, you monster!”

The visions stopped, and with it, blood and hot iron poured down Timothy’s throat, suffocating his scream. He was thrown back. The fist from the Siren burned into his vision, and yet he could scarcely see. One eye remained charred shut, and the other wept blood. 

He pawed at his chest, wheezing into the ground.

“GODDAMMIT!” He raised his head to meet the gaze of the Firehawk above. Hatred was across every line on her face. Her eyes were as bright at the markings on her arm, her gaze cruel and fuelled with wrath. 

She readied herself for the final blow but then paused.

“Coward!” Timothy snarled at her. “You’re a fricken coward!”

She hit him, sending him back to the ground. Timothy cried out; the pain was too great.

“Gahh!” He choked on the blood from his face and blindly groped at the ground.

“I want you to live with that face.” She spat, and the Siren ripped open a portal and stepped into the void beyond. He screamed after her, demanding she stay and fight.

But Lilith was gone.

“COWARD!” Timothy crawled on his hands on knees. ”GET BACK HERE!”

He was alone with the broken relic of the Vault and his hatred. He gripped what remained of his face, and the Eridians themselves would hear the roar of his anguish. Timothy stumbled to his feet, and the blood dripped down his face and over his chest. He needed a doctor, but there was no one at his side to help.

He was alone now.

Alone with his thoughts and visions. He was wrong to think they had stopped. Now the images flowed in like a trickle of water off a leaf. Rather than the downfall of rain, it had been before.

Timothy made for the exit. He had to survive and execute what he saw. He had to find the girl. But the weight of the visions was too much. Timothy fell to his knees, and his head pounded from the knowledge he couldn’t contain. 

“I’m going to kill her...”

He knew he would. He saw it. He saw everything. The Firehawk would die by his hands, and with it, a new Siren would be born.

“I’m going to kill ALL of them.” He bared his teeth and cradled his face in his hands, and when he pulled his palm away, he found it covered in blood and gore. Timothy laughed at the sight. If the Firehawk thought destroying his face would stop him, then she was a fool.

He just had to find the girl.

_You always found me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to my latest of niche fics. Someone stop me, I've got to stop doing this to myself. If youre intrigued and would like to see more please let me know Xx
> 
> [Burlesque Articulation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burlesque_articulation/pseuds/burlesque_articulation) is my wonderful Beta reader.


	2. The Man at the Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Burlesque Articulation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burlesque_articulation/pseuds/burlesque_articulation) is my wonderful Beta reader!

"Mr Lawrence."

Timothy groaned as the banging continued.

"Mr Lawrence, open this door!"

"Fuck off," he mumbled into his desk. Last night's bottle of cheap bourbon remained beside him, and the persistent racket against the door did his head no favours. 

"We have a deal! Open this door!"

"Go away!" Timothy snapped at the silhouette behind the glass. "I'm not taking the deal!" 

The shadow shifted, there was a moment's pause; Timothy was ready to unholster his weapon and see the man out of the building, but he left without another word. Timothy continued to stare at the door, distracted now by the lettering that was barely visible from his side of the glass.

_'Kadam Investigations.'_

PI work was hard to come by, and work as a drunk was even harder. But the job this man wanted from him was no line of work he was interested in.

Timothy pushed his chair back and stood from his desk. The world span and he resisted the urge to sit back down. 

"Fucking dammit," he rubbed at his forehead as if he could easily numb a nights worth of drinking with one tiny massage.

The deal the man wanted from him would have covered all his outstanding debts, and left him with enough cash to start over. Timothy chewed his lip and played with the hem of his shirt,

Guilt curdled inside of him; he felt ready to throw up just thinking about the deal.

He was desperate, but he would not accept. Nothing could make him accept. Timothy ran to the bathroom and threw up what was left in his stomach. He coughed and dry wretched, and the muscles in his chest pulled from where he'd strained them from yesterday's hangover.

"Fuck..." He gasped and rested his forehead on the cold mirror. He cursed himself, remembering that the money he'd spent on the booze was meant for formula milk. 

There was always a job or two in the alley out back. That may get him enough cash for the end of the week.

He pulled away from the mirror and fixed his hair. He couldn't look too desperate; the clients never tipped if they thought his life depended on the cash. He drank what was left of the mouthwash and put on a clean shirt. 

He fixed his best smile and left his apartment. 

_He came back, you know, the man at the door. He offered you a new job, one you took without question._

"Goddammit…" Timothy groaned and ran a hand over his face. "The fuck?" Blood painted the tips of his fingers. His head felt fractured, spilling its contents on the floor. Had he been drinking again? The last thing he remembered was accepting a job. 

"Hmmm, he seems to be coping better than the last." A woman with a curt voice spoke above.

"I told you it would work," a man's voice drawled, the infliction in his tone was identical to the woman's. 

"We already know it works. The question is, will he?" She countered.

Timothy blinked blearily and tried to focus on the two individuals bickering above him. He could not move, as if his blood had turned to ice and his muscles to lead. There was a downpour all around him, and it was the only thing he felt.

The cold heavy rain splashed over him, and somewhere, he heard the distant cry of a child. 

"...Anna?" Timothy slurred and more blood fell from his mouth. "Where's… Anna?"

"He's coming to," the man said, and Timothy did not recognise the voice. 

Something or someone held his hand. Timothy could scarcely focus, his mind raced, and his vision spun out of control. The figures above him blurred out of focus, and all he saw was his baby girl and an empty apartment.

"Anna…"

Someone turned his hand over in their palm, and cold fingers traced the scar on the back of his hand.

"Supposed he branded himself as some sort of penance?" The woman questioned.

"Hmmm." The man responded, and Timothy's hand was dropped at his side. "He will adapt. They always do."

"If he were so good at adapting, we wouldn't be running this exercise for the seventy-sixth time."

"One goes into an experiment, knowing one could fail."

"One does not go into an experiment, knowing they already have," the woman countered sharply. 

Timothy groaned and reached out towards the voices.

"Where… where am I?" 

"Should we tell him? Or wait and see what his mind comes up with?" The man asked

"Do you think it will change anything," the woman replied.

"No," the man sighed. A hand shook his shoulder, and Timothy winced at the sudden touch. "Mr Lawrence, you're on Pandora, and you're on your way to Helios."

He opened his mouth to respond, but he only managed a strangled sound. A terrible fever ran through him like his very flesh was on fire. He needed to talk to them, the two people by his side. Where was Anna? Where was he?

Why couldn't he remember?

_Timothy wake up. You have to wake up._

He woke with his head against the window, his neck bent at a crude angle and his temple sore from the thumping of the train. Timothy groaned and rolled his shoulders. His back cracked loudly, but the feeling was satisfying.

He sat alone in the carriage. Timothy supposed he was waiting for someone, but he couldn't recall who.

The seats were black leather, the trims a bright yellow, the curtains were so thick they blocked out the sun, and the floor was a plush black carpet. Everything was masculine, and decorated with iron and leather: the carriage looked like a middle-aged divorced man styled the interiors. 

It was pretentious and unwelcoming. The only detail amiss was the small lockbox next to him. Timothy sighed, kicked his feet onto the seats opposite him and placed the lockbox on his lap.

The box was his own: a small wooden trove from his days as a vault hunter. That was many years ago, and the box showed the passage of time. The corners were worn and the metal hinges rusted. Timothy had already holstered the pistol within. All that was left was the photo of the girl, security passwords and identification, and a few postcards of landmarks inside Helios.

Timothy opened the case and pulled out one of the small photos within. 

_'Control Core.'_

One of them read and displayed a massive statue of a young woman. Her arms were parted, wings adorned her back, and she loomed over the residents of Helios. Why would anyone want such a thing on a space station?

"Ridiculous," Timothy commented under his breath. He rubbed the back of his hand, tracing the scar under his fingertips. It was an old mark, but somehow it felt new as if it were burned into him only hours ago. 

He picked up the photo of his target.

"Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt," Timothy spoke the words aloud. The message was on the back of the photo; a young girl, maybe no more than 16 stared off in the distance, as if she wasn't aware her picture had been taken.

"You'll find her on Helios." A pale-faced man spoke from across the carriage. 

Timothy yelped and shut the box, catching his fingers on the lid. When the hell had he entered?

The stranger sat opposite Timothy and beside him sat a woman, with the same complexion and pale eyes.

"Where have you two been?"

The man and woman did not reply.

Timothy eventually recognised them as the go-betweens for his employer. He did not know who hired him, it rarely mattered, so for now, the man and the woman were his only point of contact.

"Anything else I need to know?" Timothy asked and pocketed the photo.

The two envoys were cryptic at the best of times, and Timothy's patience was growing thin. He did not know why they were escorting him to the Helios shuttle, or why his questions were rarely answered. Did they think he would flee from the job? Or was something more sinister at hand?

In the end, it didn't matter. Timothy needed the money, and dirty jobs in the back alley were not going to cut it anymore.

For the next six hours, they sat on the train, and he had nothing but their bickering and backwards commentary for comfort.

He learned very little about the two of them, and for the life of him, he could not tell if they were in love, married, hated one another, or related.

It was Pandora after all; it could be all four. 

"Everything you need is in there." The man finally spoke up. 

His name eluded Timothy, so did many other details.

"Do I get a name before I go up there?" Timothy glared between the two. 

"I'm Dr Tannis, and this here is Dr Patrik Tannis." The woman addressed, her voice was as sharp and clear as glass.

"You two… twins or something?"

Strangely, they both answered him.

"No." The man, Patrik replied, only to be immediately cut off by the woman who responded with a firm: "Yes."

Lawrence stared between the two twins. Patrik fixed his collar while Tannis played with the cuff of her sleeve. There was now no doubt they were related, whether they wanted to deny it or not was none of Timothy's business.

"How do I contact you when the job is done?"

“We will know.”

_Great_ ,  _ more vague answers. _

The two twins glanced at one another, a moment's pause before Patrik pulled something from his pocket.

"Take this. Though, I would rather not part with it."

"Um... thanks?"

Timothy was handed a watch with a large teal interface.

"And what am I meant to do with this?" Timothy asked and turned the watch over. There was a strange electrical surge coming from within, and the hair on his arm stood on end as he held it.

"Be careful," Tannis said, and Timothy almost winced at the piercing quality of her voice. "There is a powerful Eridium core within it." 

"You're giving me a bomb to wear on my wrist?" Timothy raised a brow but honestly he wasn’t surprised. These two were definitely a few credits short of a buck.

Tannis sighed, but Patrik appeared less frazzled by Timothy's questions.

"Activate the watch to summon help."

"Summon you?"

"No. Summon help."

"Right..." Timothy slowly attached the watch to his left wrist. "So... it calls someone? Like an echo call?"

"Something like that," Tannis replied, and those pale eyes of hers watched him intently. 

Timothy shoved his hands in his pockets and felt the photograph of the girl in his palm. How the hell was he going to get a teenager to leave with him willingly? Had the Tannis twins even considered what he looked like? Stubble covered his jaw, and the bags under his eyes were still fading from his last bender. He probably smelled like cheap liquor and cigarettes, and his outfit was going to stand out on a corporate space station.

He wore a leather jacket, leather boots, and a leather holster, at least the person who designed the train carriage would find his taste appealing. Timothy rubbed the bridge of his nose. He’d not made it to the shuttle of Helios and already he was regretting everything about this job.

The only corporate aspect to his look was the faint pinstripes on his pants. Timothy could only hope the girl hadn't received a lesson in stranger danger.

"What if the girl won't leave with me?" Timothy asked.

"Tell her whatever she needs to hear. She must leave Helios, and it must be with you."

"Why?" Timothy's voice turned dark. He had every reason to be suspicious in his line of work, and the two Tannis twins were not the most forthcoming of people.

"You need this job, don't you?" She said.

"Yes," Timothy replied through gritted teeth. His debt was not going anywhere. 

"Then see to it that the girl safely leaves Helios and arrives at Sanctuary.

"And everything, all of it, will be paid off when the job is done?"

"Yes. All your debts will be paid."

Lawrence huffed through a tense jaw. 

"What's this girl to you? Why am I bringing her there?"

"Do not concern yourself with the 'whys'. Just get the job done."

Timothy reluctantly withdrew. He supposed it didn't matter.

A job is a job. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol I spent my entire lunch break taking this chapter from google docs into HTML with Css styles all on my phone asdfgklyldls 
> 
> Thoughts, comments, questions, keyboard smashes and gifs are so very appreciated! I love hearing from you, it keeps me excited to keep on writing! 
> 
>   
> [Burlesque Articulation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burlesque_articulation/pseuds/burlesque_articulation) is my wonderful Beta reader.


	3. Vital Information

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you thought this was abandoned? lol, its not I'm very excited about this chapter, I hope you dig it too.

Timothy excused himself from the Tannis twins. He tried not to sound too eager but subtly wasn't his strongest virtue. He needed to piss but would have happily left the booth to chase a fly if it meant he was free of their suffocating presence. 

Yet, before he could move, the twins asked him a strange question, as if knowing his very intent. 

"There is a lavatory down the hall to your left," Patrik said, and his sister promptly continued the sentence:

"And if you go right and down to the next carriage, you'll find another. Which one will you choose?

"Um... ok," Timothy mumbled. "Ah, the left one?"

"Hmm," Tannis made a strange, almost disgruntled, sound.

Timothy muttered his thanks and shut the door.

He went right instead of left. He couldn't place it, but there was the strangest satisfaction in refusing the path he just said he'd take.

Timothy found the bathroom and scouted down both carriage halls, ensuring he wasn't tailed, before entering. Nisha said he was too jumpy; 'frisky kitten' is what she'd call him. However, he'd been lured with promises of a debt-free existence before, and on those occasions, he'd been left bleeding in a gutter. 

Old habits were hard to break, and so he tested the lock before turning away from the door. The bathroom was familiar in that it was embellished in the same tacky way as the rest of the train; the toilet seat was yellow, and the cover made of leather.

Timothy screwed his nose up as he pissed.

The mirror's frame was also yellow (piss-yellow if he had to give the colour a name) and if Timothy had to guess the soap would be too: it was.

He washed his hands and splashed water over his face. The bar of soap had a logo embossed on the front, it was a little worn from use, but the lettering was readable.

'Hyperion.'

He did not recognise the mark or branding. Whoever designed it frickin loved yellow.

Timothy tossed the soap aside, and it slipped on the basin and fell to the floor. He didn't bother to pick it up; instead, he examined his reflection. He was a mess. He should've spent more time — or any amount of time — on washing his hair; it was oily from drinking, and it couldn't have hurt for appearance's sake to subject himself to a shave. 

"Godammit," he whispered and leaned towards the mirror. There was a strand of grey at his hairline.

He plucked it out and held it up under the light.

He wondered what Nisha would think? She'd probably enjoy the sight, and joke that he was finally catching up to her. Was she four or five years older than him? 

Dammit, he couldn't remember. It felt like it was important, that it was something he should know. 

A sudden pain spread from the back of his neck and over his eye, and he leaned heavily into the basin of the sink. 

"Fuck," Timothy cursed and rubbed his forehead. "God-freaking-dammit."

He winced and almost cried out again, but the pain left as quickly as it came. When he opened his eyes, he found drops of blood in the sink.

The blood had come from his nose; it ran down his face blending in with the water on his chin, making a light stream of pink. He quickly wiped it away on his sleeve and rewashed his face. 

Timothy watched his reflection for a moment as if hoping he'd receive a pep talk from the other man. 

_"You've got this, champ,"_ or something else childish and enthusiastic he used to say. 

But it had been so long since he'd been either of those things. Now the damn cold mirror had more warmth than the person who stood before it.

He resisted the urge to smash it as he left.

* * *

When he returned to the carriage, the twins were gone. 

He should have been relieved, but he was not. His anxiety only worsened, especially after a very candid conversation with a confused service attendant about the whereabouts of his travelling companions.

Apparently, there were no others.

It was only after he'd finished searching the carriage that he recalled the watch on his wrist. The accessory was a strange method of communication, but he supposed if he was caught, it would be less suspicious than an echo. 

He swiped at the interface upon the watch and waited; the interface shone green and died a moment later.

"Useless junk," Timothy cursed it and shook his wrist. 

The hell was the point of it?

There wasn't even a message to tell him how the damn thing worked or who the watch was supposed to get help from. Timothy fidgeted with the zip on his jacket before conceding his search for the twins and returning to his booth.

Perhaps the twins had a portable fast-travel device? Or had they made some insane death-inducing leap out of the train and into the Dust. He wouldn't put it past the two nut-cases. 

Timothy sat down, and rested his head on the window with a loud thump, groaning theatrically in the process. Nisha would have simply slapped him on the back of the head and told him to snap out of it; she was always so confident that brute-force could wring out the stress. 

Had he always been that dependent on her?

He supposed it didn't matter. She was gone, and he had to carry himself now. 

Timothy huffed, stretched his legs and nestled into the seat: intent on sleeping through the rest of the journey, and yet his doze was rudely interrupted by an insistent buzzing from his side. He carefully bent down and pulled out an echo. He frowned, the device had definitely not been there before, he would have felt it against his leg. The screen was black, in that dim sort of way when there was no power. In fact, there was no light to indicate it was on at all, and yet a small white text message scrawled across the screen. 

_'Do not disappoint us.'_

The moment he read the words, the message vanished. 

Timothy swore and waited for another message, but the screen remained dark. If it were the twins contacting him, then why the hell would they bother giving him the watch?

Anxiety swirled in his gut, and Timothy traced a scar over the back of his hand, circling the pink and ruined flesh with his thumb. 

Something wasn't adding up. 

Timothy continued to fret and scratch at his hand, it was an obvious tell, but he couldn't help it. As his hand reddened, something loomed on the horizon. Timothy leaned into the window to get a better look.

It was massive and sat just outside the planet's atmosphere; a giant space station in the shape of an 'H'.

Staring at the dark, formidable fortress, Timothy realised he was not on his way to some fairy castle in the sky for a princess rescue mission. No, he knew corporate branding when he saw it and the train stank of some CEO's questionable aesthetic as did that space station.

Helios wasn't a city; it was headquarters. 

And if that was the case, why hadn't he heard of it? Were they a new player for control of the border planets? If so, was that why they hid their identity?

Was this why he was picked for the job? Because he knew nothing about the mark?

The realisation hit Timothy like a punch in the face; it almost threw him into the back of his seat and winding him on the spot. He scrambled at his wrist, desperate to remove the watch. It had to be a tracking device, a microphone, some kind of virus, an exploit to take out this 'Hyperion'. Whatever it was, he was the mule, and the watch was the cargo.

Who sent the twins? Maliwan? Jacobs?

Was the girl a fantasy? Just a story to pull at his heartstrings to make him agreeable? 

Timothy unlatched the watch and bolted upright off his seat. 

He had to toss it. 

He was dumping this watch, echo and everything, and bailing at the next stop. Too much of this job stank; he should have smelt the shit on the Tannis' shoes the moment they walked in.

Timothy flung open the booth doors and ran into the carriage hallway. Pushing past stewards, and other commuters he made for the far end of the train. Security was not light, and his abrupt departure didn't go unnoticed. 

"Excuse me, Sir? Can I help you?"

Timothy ignored the stewardess and pushed forward, but the obnoxiously loud click of her heels told him that she wasn't going to let him go. Timothy sped up: weaving in and out of smokers in the hallways, and men arguing about arrival times. 

He was becoming increasingly aware of how much he stood out. Everyone wore that obnoxious piss-yellow; whether it be the cuffs of their sleeves or the detailing in their pinstriped suits, it all reeked of corporate branding.

Timothy hastened his pace. He needed to get this damn watch — or whatever the hell it really was — off him, and off this train.

The last carriage door loomed ahead: iron, and not ornate like the other sliding doors he had passed.

"Sir?!" The stewardess had caught up, and Timothy bit his lip.

He really didn't want to get his hands dirty on a job he wasn't going to get paid for. But as the woman reached for him, he had no choice but to counter. Timothy spun her around and forced her overly perfumed cheeks into the carriage window.

"Your key-card, give it to me."

She gasped, and Timothy wrapped a hand over her mouth.

"Now." He paused and added a "please".

The woman fumbled at her waist before drawing up a yellow and black card. Timothy whisked it away: the card was heavy and likely made of some precious metal based on how much it shone.

"With me. Quiet now."

Timothy slowly released his hand and moved away, and yet the stewardess stayed against the window, as though she was waiting for him to change his mind.

"I'm not gonna hurt you." Timothy insisted, and that seemed to give her enough courage to turn around, and draw herself up.

She made an indignant huff, straightened out her skirt, and eyed him carefully. It seemed she was no stranger to Timothy's kind, as she glared at him up and down.

"And where would you like to go, Mr—?"

"Timothy."

"Mr Timothy?"

"Just, Timothy. Thanks."

He closed in again and resting a firm hand on the woman's shoulder, he began to push her towards the cargo hull.

"Please don't make a scene," Timothy complained aloud, "It's already been a shitty day. Weird, and extra shitty."

"I won't," the woman quipped back, and Timothy raised a brow. 

Her confidence reminded him of Nisha, but only just. If she were anything like his past wife, he'd be on the floor, hands tied behind his back for handling her in such a way.

They continued forward, with the stewardess in the lead. She politely greeted other passengers: never hinting once that she was his hostage. 

When they finally reached the cargo door, Timothy passed the keycard back to her. She promptly drew the card through the reader, and when the door opened, and the women went inside, he blew out a breath of relief: relieved that he hadn't had to draw his weapon, yet.

"So," she started, hands resting on her hips as she turned to face him. "What was so important to get in here? This a train robbery? You don't look like a bandit. Too clean."

Timothy frowned at the remark but said nothing.

The woman rolled her eyes and clutched her arms. The compartment was freezing, but he didn't plan on staying long. But for some strange reason, he removed and passed her his jacket.

She almost laughed at the gesture and took it.

"Do you keep all your hostages, so well kept?"

Timothy cleared his throat and turned away from her.

"Stand back," he said, and she nodded and moved towards the far wall.

Timothy grasped the outer carriage door with both hands and pulled hard. The massive hunk of iron groaned along its tracks, and as it opened the roaring wind from outside swopped in.

"Be careful!" she called to him, but he could scarcely hear her over the outside world whipping past.

Dusty plains swept by, and sand whipped at his arms, scratching the skin. Timothy pulled the watch out of his pocket. He turned it over in his hand one last time before hurling it as far as he could. 

**_For so many of you, this is your first, and last mistake. In this world, I never got a chance to meet you._ **

Next, Timothy flung the echo-comm, and the box the twins gave him out into the passing desert (he kept the gun). He grabbed the door once again and began to push it shut, and as he struggled to move it, the stewardess came to his side and began to help. The wind became a high pitch, eerily howl as it sealed away, and they were both breathing heavily, by the time the door closed.

Sweat made his cheeks flush red, and Timothy stammered, staring at the woman: unsure on what to do next.

"Is that it?" She asked him.

"Um, yeah," Timothy cleared his throat. Was she going to turn him in? Would it be easier to deal with her now? Not like, kill her, but he was sure he could knock her out cold for a few hours: just until he got to the station and bolted.

"Hello?" She signalled to him. 

Timothy stammered, and met her gaze.

"Oh, right —"

He was about to ask her name when the intercom above them buzzed with static.

The woman became surprised, but slowly concern shifted into her expression, and when a voice came alive and greeted the passengers, the woman's face paled:

"Welcome, my dearly beloved passengers, and Hyperion employees,” an overconfident man's voice boomed from above.

The stewardess gripped the hems of Timothy's jacket, and for the first time since he'd taken her hostage, she showed fear.

"Unfortunately, there's been a tad change of plans," the voice continued, and Timothy squared his shoulders and reached for his pistol. He knew a threat when he heard one, even if it was coated in faux pleasantries. 

"You _won't_ be making it to Helios station today, and for that, I sincerely apologise." 

Timothy glared at the intercom: if cats could talk, they would sound a lot like the man making this announcement: taking glee in toying with their prey and holding off the kill for as long as possible.

"But, we do have a very _special_ guest on board today."

The stewardess wide eyes darted from the intercom and onto him, and one by one, the hairs on the back of Timothy's neck stood tall.

"And thanks to his mischief, I've now been able to locate him."

"What?" Timothy glared at the intercom, and there beside it, he found the tiny camera, pointing down on his face.

"Hello, _Timothy_."

His jaw quivered, and he stepped back from the intercom, bumping into the stewardess. He could not explain why his chest drew tight, and his stomach bubbled with nausea. He didn't even know the man who spoke through the intercom; he didn't know anyone on this side of the border planets, and yet. He knew this voice.

The man broke out laughing.

"Oh boy, you should see your fricken face! But, seriously, You REALLY shouldn't have tossed that watch. Stupid, darn, thing was the only thing keeping my eyes in the dark. But now? Now I can _see_ you."

Timothy's jaw clenched tight, and he released the safety on his pistol.

_Screw this._

He marched towards the cargo door, and as he did, the man on the intercom continued to laugh. The reason for the other man's glee became clear: the lock mechanism did not budge.

He was trapped.

"This next part is gonna be great."

Timothy spun around and grabbed the stewardess by the shoulders.

"Is there another way out of here?!"

But the woman did not acknowledge him. Instead, she began to stammer, and apologise towards the hidden figure behind the intercom:

"Sir, I'm so sorry, Sir. If there is a problem, I'll have security take care of it right away."

"Nah, already done," the man cut her off, his tone both malicious and haphazard. "I reckon you've got about, hmmm, five seconds? Here lemme give ya a countdown, sweetcheeks. Five —"

Timothy ran to the door again, desperate to get it open, but the woman seemed to have accepted whatever fate awaited them and merely stared at the intercom. 

"Four, three, two —"

Timothy didn't really register the explosion, not until a few moments later. 

The last thing he saw was the stewardess closing her eyes, and bowing her head as a wall of flames surged through the cargo door, blowing it inwards. She was ripped apart, and then his world went black.

* * *

Timothy awoke groaning, and for a while, he felt and heard nothing, save for tinnitus running in his ears. His shirt was scorched, pants almost burnt away, and the hot leather of his boots melted in his ankles. Yet, he didn't care and closed his eyes; he wanted to dream of Nisha, have her cup his cheek and tell him to get up, to fight back.

But she didn't come to him, and he was alone. Regardless, he wanted to stay in that dark, quiet state, but the panicked screams of dying men and women kept drawing him back.

Timothy opened his eyes, blinking blearily.

Scraps of the train littered around him, as did bodies. Timothy didn't bother to join in with the survivors crying for help; no one was coming to save them.

The train tracks bent and twisted around the desert as if it were some dying insect. The doorway of a carriage arched over Timothy, blocking part of the sun. Helios — the great corporate station — loomed high above. Timothy watched it for a while as it slowly orbited along the horizon, but soon he couldn't hold his head up any longer, and his chin fell to his chest. 

He'd lost all feeling in his hands, but the pain in his chest was beginning to register. Most concerning was the sand at his feet; it hard turned to mud and stained red.

He clutched at his bloodied stomach. 

The metal railing embed in his abdomen was an inch thick and roughly a foot long, but he couldn't be sure. As the beam exited through his back and who knew how far it reached. Blood no longer clung with saliva on his lips. It now poured over, and is it did, his once content feeling left, and panic swopped in.

He uselessly pawed at the beam, willing himself the strength to pull it out. Nisha would tell him to live; she'd tell him to get the fuck up and fight.

He merely budged the beam a fraction and screamed in agony. His body finally registered to the pain, and he coughed blood, spraying it over his legs. 

"Fuck," he cried out, and tears dripped down his cheeks, stinging the cuts along his face.

Left defeated, Timothy's arms rested at his sides, as blood ran down his forearms, pooling in palms. His chin sank to his chest, and he closed his eyes again, while the pain engulfed him.

* * *

He did not know how long he lay there; only that night had come. He'd soon be a meal for the spiderants or skags, but that was not what woke him.

Someone — not in pain and dying — spoke above him. Had a survivor come to save him? Rescuers?

Dust and blood had crusted over his face, and Timothy barely managed to open his eyes.

"Perhaps next time you give it to him, explain its purpose?" A woman’s voice said.

Timothy thought he recognised it, but his mind was too foggy to paint a face to the owner.

"If I do, he becomes suspicious of us," a second voice quipped.

"Better suspicious than dead."

"Hmmm. Agreed."

Timothy stared up at the two figures above him; he was just about to make out their faces when a mouthful of blood poured from his mouth. He choked, and the beam twisted in his chest.

His scream would have been heard for miles.

"This will keep happening if we don't put an end to his paranoia."

Timothy sobbed and hoped the two people above him would help, but they did not seem interested in him. 

"Then, we let _them_ stop his nonsense."

"That hasn’t always worked.”

“But it does _sometimes_ work. He always gets further with their help and a familiar face can help sway him from these… tragedies."

"I agree. Reluctantly, that is."

The man knelt beside him, but he did not reach to comfort Timothy or ease his suffering. He just offered him a pained smile, and then stood back up.

“Wait...” Timothy murmured but the two figures began to walk off.

They did not turn back to look at him and when Timothy’s vision started to blur they disappeared into the carnage and flames. 

Timothy was alone again.

He drew a long rattled breath and wrapped his aching fingers over the back of his hand, clutching his scar. Dark spots clung to his vision and every rise and fall of his chest was slower than the last. 

"Nisha...Anna..." he whispered before Timothy closed his eyes. “I’m coming…”

  
**We will meet soon. I promise.**   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack: 1 >:3   
> Timothy: 0 :<
> 
> With this gory chapter coming to an end I'm placing this fic on posting Hiatus until I finish my main epic [Wolf Among Wolves](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12897621/chapters/29464575). I'll keep working on it in the background but I'd like to be able to update this fic on some kind of regular schedule and not 10 months later, lol
> 
> If you're enjoying this niche crossover please let me know! X
> 
> And, [Burlesque Articulation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burlesque_articulation/pseuds/burlesque_articulation) is my wonderful Beta reader, thanks for making my work the best it can be.


End file.
